


There You Are, Homemade

by orange_8_hands



Series: deep roots, leaves unfurling [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (as in Dean understands it), ASMB2019, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gray-Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Internalized Acephobia, Kissing, M/M, Non-Canonical Understanding of Consent, Relationship Milestones in the Wrong Order, Self-Worth Issues, Sex-Repulsed Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 16:17:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20473943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: For Dean, Cas can make this happen. Hecan.(or: after the first time they meet and before the rest of their lives, Cas tries his best.)





	There You Are, Homemade

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:**  
non-graphic(-ish) masturbation scene, internalized acephobia, self-worth issues 
> 
> **Notes:**  
This work is a stand-alone, but is a prequel(-ish) to my [Carpenter Verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116886). 
> 
> **Art:**  
[Awesome art](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ASMB2019/works/20478236#main) by skeletonsinzeecloset/AngelofWine (!!!)
> 
> **Thanks:**  
Thank you to my beta, [unicornball](https://unicornball.tumblr.com/), who got a random email from a writer and so completely and quickly stepped up to the plate; thank you for answering, for letting me send you a number of questions and drafts, for having the fastest turn-around time, and for helping me make this fic better. 
> 
> Thank you to [acespnminibang](https://acespnminibang.tumblr.com) for organizing this Bang another year. (Besides everything else, it gave me a chance to make up for my barely-ace related fic the first time I entered it, which has always weighed in the back of my mind.) 
> 
> And thank you thank you thank you to my artist [skeletonsinzeecloset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofWine/pseuds/AngelofWine). Your art is wonderful and expressive and colorful and fun and I will keep telling you how much I adore it because it's true; I've been impressed with each of your pieces (and your speed) and I cannot tell you how lucky I feel for getting you.

Three days after he first meets Dean, he casually mentions over the phone to Uriel, "I actually enjoyed one of Anna's parties."

"How drunk did you get? No, how drunk are you _now_?"

~~

Cas is in one of those half drowses, too tired to try to focus on reading but not tired enough to actually fall asleep. His mind is fuzzy from his cold, slow working like he can hear each gear as it moves though muck from one thought to another. There was the chime on his cell phone, and then awhile later there was a knock on his door, and now Cas is coming face to face with the idea he has to answer one of those (the door, he thinks, because that means an actual human is standing there, waiting.) He wraps the extra blanket around himself, because his temperature is hardly steady, and makes his shuffling way over, blinking at the door like he’s waiting for something. Then he opens it and wishes he remembered that something is checking to see who it is first.

Dean looks... fresh, is the first word. Sexy, if Cas was anyone else, but Cas doesn't know to translate that into his own language beyond this growing desire to push his face into Dean's neck, to staple his feet down so he can look at him always, to clasp Dean's hand and have Dean twine himself around Cas. A blow-job, he guesses would be the next step, but Cas's actual wants cut out before that, stall at this third grade level where he wants Dean to circle "yes" on all of his notes and pet his hair. (_When I feel better it will be sex_, Cas assures himself, even though it never has before, ignoring that this was a promise he was making to himself before he got sick; but then, Cas didn't have Dean before, and there is something - many things - wrong with Cas but Cas isn't _stupid_.)

"Hi, Cas."

"Hello Dean," Cas says, after what may have been a long pause; he honestly wasn't that great at this before the cold rendered half his intelligence into a stuffed nose, but he’s pretty sure he isn't being that awkward, considering he hasn't showered in three days and Dean - _Dean _\- is standing there.

Dean smiles. (_There_. If Cas wasn't sick, then surely that smile would be doing something for him; Dean has a smile that can break the sun in competition.)

"I get this is kind of weird," Dean says, and it's then Cas starts to realize Dean is nervous, would be moving his hands if they weren't holding a pot. Cas gets sidetracked by wondering when the pot appeared. "But Anna mentioned you were sick, and I just thought it would be good for you to have some homemade soup."

"Hmmm," Cas says, still staring at the pot. 

"Cas?" He lifts his eyes to Dean. "Let me in."

"Right," Cas says, and moves aside.

Cas has a small studio apartment, and besides his bed the only place to sit is the chair by his desk, with its stuck wheels, where he does his work and eats and spends about 90% of the time he's in the apartment. It's not good enough for Dean, but probably better than the bed with its unclean sheets, and also opening the door took most of the energy that was keeping Cas awake.

So he goes back to bed, and watches Dean open cabinets and drawers and do something to his microwave and then at some point after Cas loses track (watching Dean's body move, watching Dean's mouth move as he mutters under his breath, watching Dean in his space) Dean has a tray with a bowl of soup, a spoon, and cup of tea. 

"Sit up," Dean says, and Cas goes through the laborious process of sitting up. Dean puts the tray on his lap and sticks a napkin under his chin and then goes to sit in the chair.

"You made me soup," Cas says, unable to keep the marvel out of his voice.

Dean snorts. "Yeah buddy, that's what those last ten minutes were, making soup."

Cas takes a spoonful, blows on it, and then moans. "You made me good soup," Cas corrects, and applies himself to actually eating it, how warm it feels settling in his stomach. Dean is fidgeting in Cas's chair but Cas only has so much attention at this point, and almost all of it is being applied to eating this soup. Somewhere in the back of his mind is embarrassment (because Cas does not get sick, and when he does he takes care of himself - hence the small pharmacy he built on his nightstand - and who would spend time making him soup when the canned stuff has always worked well enough, and also he hasn't showered in several days and Dean was just sitting there watching him inhale his food, and definitely at some point this good feeling would tangle into anxiety) but for now... it was very good soup.

By the time his spoon hits the bottom of his bowl he's ready to go back to sleep, and only startles slightly when Dean pulls the tray away from him, snagging the tea and putting it on his nightstand first.

"You can make soup," Cas says, sleepy and warm.

Dean sends a smile his way as he moves over to the sink and cleans the bowl. "I can make soup. Well, tomato and rice. My mom taught me." Dean opens the fridge and sticks the rest of the pot in it. "She never liked chicken noodle so whenever Sam or I got sick she made this, and when I was about ten I made her teach me so I could make it for her."

"It was very good soup, Dean. Thank you."

"Yeah, of course." He finally closes the fridge and looks at Cas. "I'm gonna let you get some sleep, but call me if you need anything else." There's a faint pink on his cheeks and he won't quite meet Cas's eyes, but he still smiles. "I'd, uh, I'd like to help."

Cas isn't quite sure what to say to that, so he just says again, "Thank you, Dean."

"See ya, Cas," he says, and locks the door as he walks out.

Cas rubs his head into his pillow, wants to cover his face even though there's no one else in the apartment still left to see. _Of course blow jobs will follow_, is Cas's last thought before sleep takes him, _it has to_.

~~

He doesn't let himself think about it, because thinking about it never actually solved it.

~~

Cas has never been around many children. His younger sisters, of course, but he was a child then too. Some cousins, in the rare interactions his distant parents decided to make an effort to push, though frankly Cas probably couldn't name them or how they were related at the time, much less ten years later. A few friends’ siblings, coming up to visit their family during weekends at his various boarding schools. That brief summer job involving the public of all ages, but Cas would continue to repress that like the best of them<strike></strike>.

Not much interactions with children, and even less with babies. But it was very clear the first night they met that this wasn't so much nonnegotiable as Dean didn't even think there was something to negotiate. Dean had a daughter, people who wanted to be in Dean's life therefore would be near his daughter. (Which is how it should be, of course, _of course_, and Cas could admit to himself that part of the appeal of Dean was this side of him, but also: fathers did this, apparently, included their children in their circle of friends, introduced their children to people they cared about. Fathers just... connected to their children so much that the absence of the child was obvious, and considered a poorer experience. Cas could extrapolate this kind of dynamic existed, but in the same way he knew people changed their own car oil: with absolutely no practical experience, and complete befuddlement on the details on how.)

"Emma," Dean says, arm underneath her bottom cradling her against his chest but facing out so she could see in front of her, <strike></strike>"this is Cas. Cas, this is Emma."

"Hello," Cas says quietly. He wasn't really sure what to _do_, but he thought he could handle this part. She’s quieter than he expected, mouth pursed, but her eyes look sharp. It is easy to smile. "It's nice to meet you," he adds, and means it, completely.

She makes some kind of blubbering noise, waving her arms, and Dean's hand holding her chest automatically comes up, catching one tiny fist and rubbing it, Dean's smile turning softer, private. "She's happy to meet you too." He lets Cas and Emma just look at each other for a minute, before snorting, bouncing Emma slightly. "You want to hold her? You don't have to, or anything, you mentioned not really knowing babies, and some people don't, you should see Sam and he's her uncle, so—“

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Show me how to hold your daughter."

"Right." His voice is softer, and Cas wants to look up, because Dean's face is more expressive than Cas thinks Dean knows, but Emma is making noises that seemed directed at him now, and it would be rude not to pay attention. He has no clue what she was trying to convey, but she seemed adamant about it.

"So there's a couple of ways to hold babies, but basically you gotta support their butt and you gotta support their head. It helps, to just use your chest as a kind of support, or you can use your arms. Here," he finishes, and moves to pass her over.

It takes some maneuvering, especially because Emma keeps jerking her arms up and down, but then something clicks and suddenly Cas has Emma in the crook of his elbow, cradled in his arms. She’s heavier than he thought she would be, and she is looking at him, still making that random baby noise, and Cas finds himself saying, "Yes, I think we'll get along very well too."

"Gah," says Emma.

"So I guess you’re comfortable then," Dean says, some intermittent time later, and Cas really wants to glance up at that tone, but Emma is still talking to him, definitely agreeing with his previous statement about her adorableness and possibly expanding on it.

Dean chuckles softly, his voice moving away. "Ok then. I'm gonna make us some food."

~~

"You seem especially happy," Uriel accuses him on the phone that night.

"It's nothing," Cas lies. "Just a good day."

~~

They get lunch, or Dean will sit him through a movie that is apparently the eighth wonder of the world, or they take Emma to the nearby park and dazzle her with the swings. They eat dinner, Dean usually finishing up just as Cas got out of his last class, enough time to wash his hands and set the table, and Mary and Cas would get into long political discussions while Dean tried to talk Emma into smashed peas. When they first started to "hang out" (as Dean referred to it in the early days) they would do things, a lot of it centered around eating because Dean was a bottomless pit, but it would still be _doing_ things. "Come over so we can finish the series," or "I gotta go pick something up three hours away, come with," or "I'll quiz you once Emma goes down for the night." And while there of course Cas will take off his coat, read to Emma given half a chance (his library card is seeing a lot less dry academic tomes and more picture books with dinosaurs all over them), give her a bath while Dean cleaned and Mary took a glass of wine to her room. He would change her diapers (he’s obviously less fond of that one), hold her during a screaming jag that turned into the first tooth. They would meet because there was something they could do, and they could do it together.

This is what Cas now knew: you had a friend, you planned an activity, you did the activity together.

But lately Cas finds himself just... coming over. Not to watch a movie or eat Dean's (increasingly good) food or read to Emma the book he just got, explaining to Emma it was highly enjoyable compared to the dry brick his professor had assigned, though he did all those things. He calls Dean to tell him class was tedious but he discovered a new bakery and would bring dessert, and Dean is just pleased, and didn't question that this was the third, the fifth, the sixth dinner they shared that week. Doesn't question when Emma is asleep and the TV is silent and Cas is still on the couch, looking over his notes for the next seminar, Dean reading a book or going over his work site notes or picking up Emma's toys.

It’s what friends do. There’s just this... gap, in Cas's experience. Because he lived with two hundred other students and his best friends and his sisters were hardly a five minute walk away at any point in the day or night. And then he went to undergrad and it was the same, and then he entered the so called "real world" and grad school and suddenly all that effortless friendship had to take more planning, more conscious thinking. Uriel and Joshua stayed, and Anna had already left, and everyone else was nice, he would have called them friends, but they were peripheral, in a way, and the distance swallowed those relationships up. They had never taken up much of his attention when they weren't right there, for all the fun they were when they were. So he got himself an apartment and his friends became his running club, his study companions, his fellow lecturers. He met them for a specific purpose, or maybe a better way to put it was he knew them in a specific way; he and Adina had arguments about the best running paths, Mira and he discussed research tips, he and Bart just exchanged complaints about classes and coffee in one hour increments.

Dean had never really fit that mold, so it made it easier to just meet him because he wanted to, because he missed Dean and Emma in the times they were apart and what did it matter? What did it really matter when Dean asked just as much, started to assume Cas would be over whether he called or sent a text confirming it. It became part of a routine, and Cas missed that, sharing spaces with people without having to focus on them. Let Emma and Dean's chattering become the new music he listened to as he typed his papers; what did it harm, what did it matter?

They are friends, this is what friends did, and no matter what Cas told himself he couldn't make his body do anything else, so really the only path forward is to _be _friends.

~~

"He's a really good friend," Cas says.

"You're really fucking stupid," Uriel says.

~~

Cas jerks off, sometimes. Not often, because he'd forget how long it had been since the last time, or it just seems like too much of a hassle dealing with clean up, or he'd start and not really get anywhere and it was just... doing it to do it. Sometimes his body would get twitchy, like it wanted something, and then the process would go smoother, but mostly it was just too much effort, even if the reward was nice.

It was mostly just faceless bodies he imagined. He tried watching porn before but the people just looked uncomfortable, and last time he started to worry he had accidentally downloaded a virus and destroyed his almost finished thesis. <strike></strike>(He was still a little unclear on what sexy feels like, but panic attacks definitely were not.)

But he can do this. People talk about it being natural, instinctive, and he doesn't understand _that_, but it also isn't rocket science; movement, friction, body signs like heavier breathing, and then the end result.

He grabs a bottle of lotion, gets into bed. Remembers the future mess and leaves the bed to grab a washcloth from his bathroom so he won't have to afterwards. He’s tired, because it’s late and chasing after Emma at the park for hours on end is more wearing than running his five miles in the morning, but if he doesn't do it now he'll get busy with the next grading cycle and put it off another few weeks, and he needs to know. To just, decide, finally, if this was something he can do.

So he gets into bed. Decides looking isn't going to help and closes his eyes. His hand is cool from the lotion, and it feels nice. The simple up and down motion, the nerves tingling. He imagines what he usually does: bodies moving together, the faces slightly blurry. He focuses on the different parts of the body; the curve of shoulders and nipples and legs lightly spreading. He’s hard, by this point, and getting somewhere, and now it’s time for the next step.

It’s easy to build Dean up in his head. The strength in his arms, the freckles lining his back, the muscles flexing under his shoulder blades. He is paler than Cas, broader in the chest. Cas has seen Dean shirtless, when they took Emma to the water and when he needed to change his shirt and couldn't be bothered to move to another room (from spit-up from Emma, from dirt and sweat from work, from oil when he fixed someone's car engine); he's seen <strike></strike> Dean in various states of undress, actually, those times he fell asleep and woke up on the couch to see Dean shuffle past in the boxer shorts and the cotton-soft shirt he slept in to start breakfast.

Cas has an excellent memory and he spends far too much time watching Dean, studying him, the slope of his nose, the green of his eyes, the bow of his lips. Cas has spent months looking at Dean, the way he cups Emma in his arms and the way he laughs with his head thrown back, the way he licks his bottom lip. Cas isn't _stupid_, and you'd have to be to miss the way Dean is aesthetically pleasing when he's still, and utterly captivating when he moves, when he smiles and talks and touches Cas's shoulder, lets his hand trail down Cas's arm. Cas will be one of the best in his field and in comparison to how much he knows about Dean it feels like nothing, like he couldn't even pass a basic vocabulary quiz.

He can imagine Dean in bed, laying on his side and smiling at Cas. The way he looks warm and inviting and Cas does want to press his face into his neck, into his shoulders. He wants to touch his skin, he does.

This is easy, and it's easy to imagine getting permission to move closer, to enter into Dean's space and curl into it. Let Dean lay on him, let him run his hands down Dean's arms as Dean kisses him. Dean is beautiful, the way he holds his daughter, and tells Cas he'll drive out of the way just so Cas can avoid having to carry heavy books on the bus, and makes his mom's favorite dishes when she's had a tough week at work. Dean is beautiful, and Cas wants to be his, wants to claim him, wants _something _that means he can hug Dean when he wants, can interlock their fingers together when they walk, can introduce Dean to people as something obviously vital. 

His hand speeds up and he can do this, can have Dean because he can imagine... His hand falters slightly, Dean will want to - but no, this is the point, he can imagine this. And his hand is back in rhythm, and it means Dean collapsing next to Cas in a shared bed and whispering worries about Emma and running his fingers through Cas's hair while Cas complains about his students. So imagine this: Dean, the way he smiles whenever Cas comes by, the way he shrugs away compliments, the way he walks, loose and bow-legged. The cocky tilt of his smirk, how his voice roughens and lowers, the way he lifts wood into the back of his truck like it takes no effort.

He rubs himself, underneath the head of his dick, and he can't quite get there, can't imagine it as Dean's hand, but he can imagine Dean cupping his cheeks and rubbing his thumb there instead, can imagine Dean looking at him, looking _back _at him, thumb relentless and unconsciously mapping his cheekbones, his face as something beloved. Can imagine Dean leaning in, can imagine the softness of the moment, can imagine the way Dean's lips shape the words _I love_ –

He comes, stops imagining and just feels his orgasm work through himself, lets the pleasure zip up his spine. The sound of the words, the gentleness in the way Dean says it...

Cas can do this. He _can_.

~~

"I love you, Cas."

~~

He _can_.

~~

It's only halfway through the drive to the park, when Dean slides his hand over the one Cas has on his knee, that Cas realizes again that this is a date. Or, can be considered a date. That they are dating, so the activities they used to partake in would continue, but would also have... this. Hand holding, Dean kissing his cheek when he passed Emma to him. Things Cas has been wanting to add to their dynamic. Would still also have this: Dean chuckling into the container of orange slices he was opening for Emma, Dean squeezing his shoulder, Emma laughing hysterically at throwing her blocks off the blanket and making him go after them.

It would turn into this: nights of Emma asleep and Mary not at home and Dean crowding him on the couch, kissing him softly and quickly and slow and harsh, kissing him and kissing him, hands on his waist and neck, hands moving –

Cas pulls back, more sharply than he means to. "I have to go," he adds abruptly. "It's late."

"You can spend the night." Dean waggles his brows, smirking, but it fades quickly, and Cas doesn't know what his face is expressing but he's not sure how to stop the slight frown that takes over Dean's face. "Just to sleep, if you want. I'm not... trying to push you into anything too fast. I know this is new to you. We can go at whatever pace you want." 

"I don't need kid gloves," Cas says coldly, and then wants to bite his tongue. Dean looks like he's trying to swallow his anger, not the mock disagreements about the best character in Star Wars, but the same one he used when confessing the last time he saw his dad, angry at himself more than anything else for caring. 

"I'm not saying you do," Dean says, evenly enough.

"Right." Cas wants out of this conversation, wants to stop talking about being ready<strike></strike>, wants Dean to stop softening his face and body, wants Dean to stop removing his hands, wants Dean to remove his hands. "Of course." 

"Cas..." Dean is floundering too. "It's not like there's a timeline to having sex."

"As long as we have it."

"Huh?"

Cas wants to curse himself. (Cas wants to rewind the universe by just ten seconds, because if he had just stayed quiet he could have had this for longer.)

"As long as we have it," Cas says deliberately. "At some point, the goal is for us to... and if it's not the goal, what are we doing?"

"I don't even— What, you don't want to have sex with me?"

"No."

Dean rears back, face flooding with hurt. "I don't... I mean, what has... what the fuck Cas? We've been dating for weeks. We've... you said you love me. You said it Cas, you didn't have to..."

"I do love you," he snaps, because there are certain truths he would not deny. "I'm in love with you. That's not the point."

"Then what is the fucking point, Cas?"

"That I don't want to have sex with you, Dean! That I try and I try and I—“ he tries to swallow the sob. "I have been _trying_."

Dean slowly uncurls from the way he was leaning back while Cas tries to catch his breath. There's a long moment of silence, Dean just watching him, forehead crinkled, and it looks like he's about to put a hand on Cas's knee, but instead it just hovers before dropping away. Cas swallows.

"So you... ok Cas, we uh, probably should have talked about this sooner, but, you know I swing both ways, right?" Deans seems to be waiting for a response, so Cas nods. "And I just kind of assumed you were gay. ‘Cause you don't... really talk about women that way." Cas nods again; he knows Dean is referring to when Dean will make comments about the actresses in the movies they watch; Cas doesn't join, has never joined. "But I guess you don't really talk about dudes that way either."

"No."

"And even though you, well, you look at me, you don't... feel that way. About me. Or anyone."

It tears to finally admit, "No."

"But you love me," Dean says, and he sounds disbelieving, and it just hurts. All of this just hurts.

"Yes." Cas takes the risk and grabs Dean's hand, and Dean lets him, staring down at their hands. "I love you very much. I meant what I said, the first time. I want to grow old with you."

"You just don't want to have sex with me."

Cas releases his hand and sits back, beaten. "No."

There's a long beat of silence. Cas knows he should get up, should leave, should let Dean be angry with him, but he's just tired. His apartment has mostly turned into storage space, and will not have Emma, and will not have Dean, and this is the last night he got to come close to something he never thought would be his.

"Ok," Dean finally says.

"Ok," Cas repeats, exhausted.

"So I guess, I mean not tonight, but we should talk about your boundaries."

Now it's Cas's turn to sit in incredulous silence. "My _boundaries_?"

"Yeah," and Dean is turning red, "Like what's ok, what's not. I mean, kissing was ok, and... Cas, kissing was ok, right?"

"Kissing?"

Dean makes a face. "I mean, we've been kissing for weeks, and it seems like you were into it, but also I thought you wanted to have sex with me so... that was a joke, Cas. I mean, kind of."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Cas. Kissing, yes or no?"

In bewilderment, Cas says, "Kissing is fine."

Dean blows out a breath. "Ok, I'm calling that good enough for now. It's late; did you want to stay over?"

Dean sometimes speaks in movie quotes, so Cas knows miscommunication, but this is like taking a step on a dirt road and ending up in a lake - not just different conversations but different languages.

"So you aren't," and Cas picks his way around the words carefully, "You don't want to break up?"

"What the fuck? No, I'm not a dick, Cas!" Dean puffs up, then suddenly deflates. His eyes go a little cross and his lips move slightly, an argument he’s having with himself. He licks his mouth, looks away, looks back at Cas. He finally shrugs. "I guess we don't know all that much about each other, at least in this context-" and he waves a hand between them. "And I mean, I don't really understand what's going on with you. But I love you. I've been giving you Emma. When you said you wanted to grow old with me... that's, I mean, I have a hand, Cas. It doesn't compare."

"Oh," Cas says, is all he can say. He feels shell-shocked; it never occurred to him that this would be an option. "I love you too."

"Yeah, I'm... getting that." He clears his throat. "It's late, you're not taking the bus back. Get changed, I'm gonna check on Emma. You can, I mean the couch is yours but I got a queen sized memory foam mattress. You could share it. Just sleeping, I swear."

Cas nods. Goes to the bathroom, then changes into his sweatpants. Avoids his eyes in the mirror, because this is what he wants but it feels like living in a soap bubble. He waits by the bed for Dean to come in, wearing his own sweatpants, and sets the baby monitor on the nightstand.

"You care about sides?" Dean asks, and Cas shakes his head, crawls onto the side Dean waves to him. Dean turns out the lights and thumps down on the mattress, stretching out next to Cas.

It's quiet, and Cas is so tired his eyes are starting to hurt, but he can't fall asleep, not like...

"No funny business, I promise," Dean says into the dark, and then he feels Dean pull him in, lets Cas rest his head against the thin stretch of material covering his beating heart.

It's a moment, two moments, and then Cas is asleep.

~~

By the time he wakes up, the bed is otherwise empty and the sheets cool. The baby monitor is on its side, switched off, and Cas catches a glimpse of the alarm clock and sees it’s an hour later than usual, so Cas assumes Dean is already up with Emma. He rolls over and presses his face into the pillow, counts slowly in his head. He slept well, better than he has in a while, but he's still exhausted. He wants to join Dean and Emma, and never wants to see them again; that razor edge wire, between remembering Dean's conversation and remembering all the years that came before, and knowing the fall is still coming.

He finally pulls himself out of bed, uses the bathroom, brushes his hands and teeth, and gets dressed.

Usually Cas finds Dean cooking breakfast, or feeding Emma in her high chair, but it's late enough that Emma's already eaten and is zooming around on the floor. She spots him and crawls over, butting her head against his leg until Cas automatically swings down to pick her up. She pats his face and murmurs happy noises at him, and he kisses her hands and says, "Yes, I know, blueberries are delicious. Of course we'll take you to the park."

"That's part of it," Dean says suddenly, behind him. "’Cause you just know."

It's not that Cas wants to argue with this, but still; he sighs, turns, and sees Dean watching them with a peculiar expression on his face. "Dean, her hands are dyed blue from the berries, and she always wants to go to the park. It's easy to know."

"Yeah, cause you're _here_."

"Here is an easy place to be." He feels Emma straining back to the floor and carefully puts her back down.

Dean shakes his head, snorts softly. "We both know that's not true."

And Cas knows he means, _my father_, and even _your father_. "Here is where I want to be."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what took me so long to wrap my head around. I mean hell, I basically shoved you into Emma's life without-"

"I love Emma," Cas interrupts. "That is not up for discussion."

"That's not what I... Look, I know you love Emma. That's not the question."

"But my love for you is suspect, because I don't want to have sex with you?"

"No!" Dean runs a hand through his hair. "That's _my _point, Cas. You didn't believe me, yesterday, when I said it didn't matter."

Cas pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. He says, slowly, "It's not that I doubt you love me, and more that you haven't thought this through all the way."

"Yeah, but it's a little late for that."

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

"It means I love you, you dick. Sometimes I lie awake and think about us at seventy. I think about asking you stuff before I make decisions about Emma. I've been trying to figure out how to ask you to move in with us for months, before we even started dating. I'm in love with you. So our relationship is gonna be different than what I was imagining, so I'm not gonna be having sex with someone anymore. Who the fuck cares, Cas, when I get you."

Cas doesn't move.

"I know you think I just -" Dean waves his hand. "But I thought about it. I thought about it most of the night. I'm, yeah, I get horny, and I like sex, sex is awesome, or well, I get you don't think of it that way, but it can - but my point is I love you. I see you with Emma, or just talking about your classes, or... it doesn't even matter, it just makes me happy. You make me happy. Do you get that?"

There's an ever expanding warmth growing in Cas. "I didn't think it would work. If I couldn't..."

Dean smiles. "Yeah, you were wrong."

"So you want to keep dating."

Dean comes closer, looking smug now, and Cas realizes he's smiling helplessly at Dean. "Yeah, Cas, I want to keep dating."

"Ah." Cas feels Dean slide his hands around his waist. "I said kissing was ok, right?"

Dean's face is so bright. "Yeah Cas, you did."

~~

Uriel spends so long laughing Cas hangs up on him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably (hopefully) unnecessary but I can't _not_ have this note so: if you've read the rest of the verse before this you'll notice Cas is a lot more sex-repulsed here than he is later on, and while there's a couple of complex emotions behind the change [he's no longer pushing himself to feel things he doesn't feel instead of enjoying what he does feel; his yes stops being something bitter he directs at himself but something he actually feels like he can share; he gets more comfortable with sex and his body being involved in it the longer he's with Dean; etc] please remember this is one character in this one fic and not the only, best, accurate, or fair representation of someone being sex-repulsed and/or ace. [aka holy fuck do _not_ assume someone who is sex-repulsed will change their mind later and _never_ pressure _anyone_ for sex.] ok? ok.


End file.
